


away from the roll of the sea

by dogeared



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-18
Updated: 2011-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/pseuds/dogeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The anniversary of his dad's death comes and goes quietly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	away from the roll of the sea

When Steve reaches across him to grab his phone and turn off the alarm chime, Danny's already awake. Steve stays sprawled half on top of him, a warm, heavy weight anchoring Danny to the bed, kisses his chin and the corner of his mouth and the skin beside his ear and rumbles out, "Mmmm, morning. You wake up early?" Danny doesn't answer, slides a hand up Steve's side instead and fits his palm to the muscle and bone, presses kisses along his throat and up under his jaw until Steve groans and shifts against him, hard and smearing wetness across Danny's thigh, until he's rolling his hips and he forgets that he asked Danny a question.

The truth is that Danny feels like he's been staking out Steve's life from the inside, vigilant for any sign that he might crash or fold, that he might finally bow under the weight of his anger and his grief, but Steve's just been . . . Steve. He's focused when there's a job to do, and a little softer and sadder around the edges, maybe, but not trying to hide it, at least not from Danny.

The anniversary of his dad's death comes and goes quietly—they visit the cemetery together, Steve standing with his spine rigid, his arm pressed against Danny's like it's a lifeline. Later, Steve calls Mary, stands down by the water's edge and talks to her for half an hour, stands there a few minutes more after he hangs up, staring out at the ocean and beyond, seeing things Danny can only guess at. When he turns around and starts making his way back up the beach, he looks okay, looks like he's keeping it together, but his eyes are red-rimmed, and it makes Danny's throat go tight, makes the same fierce protective instinct he has for Grace rise up in his chest. Only there's no one to yell at, no one to tell off, so he meets Steve halfway, kisses him like a storm blowing in, and Steve bends and sways into it, yielding like he's grateful not to have to hold himself up anymore.

* * * * 

Steve's not exactly forthcoming about his SEAL days, but Danny's done some reading on the side, tried to put together enough pieces to gain a big picture, even if he'll never fill in all the blanks (like he told Steve when they first met, he likes puzzles). He figures that a year standing still has to feel like a long time for Steve, and he wonders if there's an itch under his skin to move, go, see, do. It's the kind of thought his mind wanders to and then shies away from—whether, now that Steve's drive for being here has changed, there's a reason for him to stay.

Still, when he walks into the bedroom to find Steve stuffing clothes into what looks like a military duffel, it's like a sucker punch to the gut, and Danny's the one folding in on himself, he's the one crashing into the door frame as he backs out of the room.

Steve calls out after him, "Danny— Danny!" and catches up with him in the hallway, catches him, his hands steady and strong on Danny's shoulders, pushing him back against the wall, and Danny must have a face, it must be all over Danny's face, because Steve sounds a little frantic when he says, "It's just my dad's stuff, okay? I'm taking it over to Goodwill, I thought it was time to, what—"

It's a good thing Steve's holding him up, because Danny sags hard, breathes out, "Jesus, I thought you were—" He can't say it, embarrassed and choked up in equal measure. In Danny's experience, it's right when you're in the middle of a good thing, a really good thing, that it can suddenly turn sour. And maybe it'll turn out that the clues were there all along, in retrospect, but while you're living it, you don't see them until it's too late.

"Danny," Steve says, shaking him gently, ducking his head so that he can look up into Danny's eyes, "you came here," and Danny's not sure whether _here_ means Steve's bed, his house, the island, but Steve's still talking, saying, "you're here, why would I go anywhere else?" He has a face, too—it's wide open and hopeful; it's happy, and it's something Danny wants to see every single day.


End file.
